


Golfing for Dummies

by JediDiplomat



Category: Actor RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Blind Character, Disability, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediDiplomat/pseuds/JediDiplomat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's reintroduced to his one true love.  It goes about how you expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golfing for Dummies

"Jeff? Where are my clubs? I thought I left them in the hall closet but I can't find them. I think my cleats are in there too, and do I look presentable?" Jensen asked, coming into the living room.

Jeff looked up from the paper he was reading. "Clubs are in the hall closet. Need me to get them for you?"

"I can do it," Jensen retorted. "But they're not there."

Jeff rolled his eyes, "They're in the back, on the side closest to the front door."

"I checked there; you moved them." 

Jeff bit back the retort that Jensen should look again with his eyes open. It was times like this that Jensen's assertions that he wasn't a child were hard to take seriously. He took a breath, "It's there. I didn't move it, unless you're going to accuse Bisou and Bandit of hiding it?"

Jensen grunted,turned and went back to the hall closet. Jeff watched from his spot in the kitchen, knowing that if he went over there and helped, he'd just set Jensen off. Jensen barely left the house these days unless it was to a therapy session, much as Jeff had tried. For Jensen to be voluntarily leaving the house, to attempt something he'd loved before the accident was a huge step forward; one that Jeff wasn't going to screw up. Which was why he was watching from the kitchen and waiting, no matter how much it made his hands itch to do so.

Jensen was digging through the hall closet and Jeff watched as his fingers closed around the handle of the bag. Jensen pulled them out and ran his fingers over the clubs, before adjusting it so he could shove it over his shoulder. "Jeff? Can you help me find my cleats?"

Jeff came over and dug through the shoes by the door. They'd have to mark his cleats if he continued to golf, something Jeff was going to try his damndest to encourage without actually seeming to encourage him. Jensen needed out more, without Jeff, for both their sanities. "Here you go." He said, pulling out the saddleshoe cleats. "And you look fine."

Jensen nodded, carefully putting the cleats in his golf bag before slipping on his sandals.

"I'm moving these to right in front of the door. Don't trip when Kane gets here." Jeff said with a grin, moving the clubs to said location.

Jensen stuck his tongue out.

Jeff came closer, his hand cupping the back of Jensen's head "Don't start something, you're not prepared to finish, boy."

Jensen shivered under his hand and Jeff closed the few inches between them and kissed Jensen. Jensen's hands opened and closed, as if they didn't know what they wanted. Jeff knew exactly what he wanted, and his other hand reached between them and started to handle Jensen's cock through his dress slacks. Jensen gasped into Jeff's mouth and then whimpered. Jeff nipped his lower lip as his hand continued to bring Jensen to attention. He pulled back as he heard Kane's truck pull up in the driveway. Jensen followed Jeff's lips but Jeff held him back.

"Fucker," Jensen whispered, reaching down to adjust himself. 

"Maybe later if you're good." Jeff replied with a grin.

"Not going to be able to walk."

"Think of it as an incentive to play well."

"I hate you," Jensen pouted.

Jeff laughed, "Awww, sweetheart, you say the sweetest things."

Before Jensen could come up with a retort, Kane was ringing the doorbell. It was the only thing that had changed about him and Jensen. Before he'd just holler or honk the horn, now he made sure Jensen had everything and led him to the truck. 

Jeff gave himself a mental headshake. Christian, sometimes they called him CK. CK, Steve and Danni had been nothing but good to Jensen. He had to remember not all of Jensen's friends were assholes.

The doorbell rang again and Jeff opened the door with an eyebrow. "Impatient?"

"You know how my boy gets when he's running late." Christian said with a smirk.

"What time is our tee time?" Jensen asked, pulling away from Jeff. Jeff huffed a laugh as a fond, if exasperated, look was shot at Jensen.

"We got plenty of time," the other man soothed giving Jeff a look. Christian would never let anything happen to Jensen, Jeff reminded himself sharply. Jensen was perfectly safe. 

"Got everything?" Jeff asked, unable to help himself from adding, "cane, tees, balls?"

Christian put his hand to his mouth to hide a snorted laugh, and Jensen rolled his eyes, "Yes, *mom*. I got everything. We're only doing nine today, should be home in a couple of hours."

Again the look from Kane and Jeff stomped down on the sick feeling in his stomach. He had to stop being paranoid. There was no reason to believe that anything would happen. Christian wasn't Jared. Jensen had known him for over fifteen years, there was no reason not to trust Jensen's best friend.

"As you keep reminding everyone, you're not a kid. I'll see you when you get back. Have fun." He said, giving Jensen a quick kiss before Jensen was being dragged out the door by a cowboy who’d decided he’d been patient long enough. Jeff grinned as he watched the two men jostle each other as they made their way to the truck. Jeff shook his head. Kane was dressed in the ugliest shirt he'd ever seen, probably straight from the seventies, and baggy cargo pants. Jensen would have had a fit if he knew. 

Jeff took a deep breath. Jensen would be fine, now he had to figure out what the hell he was going to do with himself today.

* * *

"So what the fuck aren't you telling Jeff?" Jensen asked as soon as they were in the truck. "Don't try and bullshit me, Christian. I know something's up and you didn't want Jeff to shit a brick."

There was silence from the other side of the cab, punctuated by quiet grunts. "Kane." Jensen added when the silence went on.

"Fuck, boy, ain't nothing."

"If it's nothing, fucking tell me!" Jensen growled. 

Another grunt and Jensen could imagine Christian fiddling with the radio, trying to figure out how to tell him whatever the fuck he needed to tell him. "Kane," Jensen warned him. 

"We're just going to another course. The flaming douchenozzles at the first place flat out told me that allowing you to golf was against their rules. Fuck them and their fucking dress code, found another fucking course to golf instead. One that didn't give a fuck if you were blind as fucking long as we didn't fucking slow play." Kane said, all in a breath. As if he had to get it all out before he lost his nerve.

Jensen sat back in his seat. When Christian had first brought this up, he hadn't believed him. How the fuck was he supposed to golf blind. He still thought this wasn't going to work, they were going to take one look at him and... "Wait, what the fuck does their dress code have to do with me not being able to play?"

Silence. Jensen reached over and hit Kane’s arm. Kane grunted and shoved him toward the door of the cab. “Fucking driving here, bubba.”

There was really only one reason why they'd violate the dress code. “Are you wearing your ugly as fuck golf shirt?”

“No,” Christian retorted, a little too quickly.

“You look like a fucking hobo and they wouldn’t let you on the course.” Jensen snapped, shaking his head. He started to laugh. Kane and his insistance on playing comfortable. “And you’re blaming me for it, asshole.” 

“Not all of us can be as pretty as you, sunshine.” Christian drawled. “We’re fucking going golfing." There was a pause, and Jensen could hear Christian shift in his seat, then say, quietly. "I was gonna get us on your favorite course, figured it'd help you get back into things. They canceled the reservation when I showed up. Fuckers. So, now we're going to my favorite course. They don't give a flying fuck what anyone's wearing so long as you don't fucking slow play. There’s only one restriction.”

“What?” Jensen asked, suspicious.

Christian barked out a laugh. “You ain’t allowed to drive the golf cart.”

* * *

Jensen licked his lips as he followed Kane. His hand was firmly tucked into the crook of Christian’s elbow. His clubs bounced against his back, another bag bounced against Jensen’s side. Jensen didn’t bother to tell his well meaning, but oblivious friend he was leading with the same arm he’d put the clubs over and so they were bruising the shit out of him. Plus, his cane was dangling from his wrist and he was having a hard time not tripping over everything. 

“Relax. Nobody's staring."

“Yet,” Jensen muttered.

“Shut it, pretty boy.”

Fees paid, Christian led him out of the clubhouse. “Gimme yer clubs. I’ll put them in the golf cart.” Jensen nodded, and dropped the clubs from his shoulder. Jensen stumbled sideways when Christian pulled his own off his arm. "Why the hell didn't y'all tell me I was fucking smacking you around with my clubs?" the whiskey voice drawled, indignant. "Y'all need to learn to speak up, son."

Jensen just shook his head, not sure how to explain. “So... how does this work? I can’t see.”

“Yep. Noticed that.” Christian snarked. Jensen was grateful he went with the change of subject. He was roughly spun, about 45 degrees. “Imma be yer eyes. I’ll tell you all about the hole, what the par is, all that shit. I’ll line you up with the ball, after that it’s all you.”

“How do I know you’re not fucking with me?” Jensen asked, lick his lips again.

“I’m going to pretend you did not just say that, son.” the other man growled. “You going to fucking do this, or are we going to sit around fucking scratching our balls?”

"Very glad I’m blind right now,” Jensen mumbled but nodded. “Yeah, let’s do this. Explain the hole.”

Jensen could almost picture Christian squinting into the sunlight as he hummed for a moment, sizing up the area. “It’s a 350 yard, straight shot, par 3. Sand trap on your, uh, left about 200 yards down. Trees and a fucking weird group of houses, who the fuck wants to live on a golf course? Don’t break a fucking window, they’re probably yuppy assholes that’ll sue your nuts off. Those are on your right. Shoot straight and you’ll be fine.”

Jensen turned toward Christian and said “Um... driver then?”

“I would hope so, pretty boy, unless you can hit 350 with your iron.” Was said with a chuckle. Jensen turned to grab his clubs when one was put in his hand and he was spun around again. “Next time we’re gonna get your clubs organized so you can fucking do it yourself. Where you wanna hit?”

Jensen thought it over for a second, trying to picture he'd been told. “Straight down the middle, you said something about a sand trap and houses?”

“Yeah man, best to go straight down the middle. Don’t slice it, you’ll hit a house.” There was a rustle of movement and then Jensen was being pulled forward. “Stand here, club down, don’t you fucking hit me with that thing while I’m placing the ball.”

Jensen rolled his eyes, “Dude, I’m blind not stupid.”

Christian mumbled something that might have been “news to me” but then Jensen’s club was being moved forward. He shuffled the few steps and when he felt Christian’s hand leave the club he got himself ready. 

“I’m good?” he asked one more time. He realized he had to take Kane’s word on this, that his friend wouldn't deliberately send him toward the trees or into the sand trap. Not that he would, Jensen thought, the jackass was a shit ton of things, but he wouldn't fuck this up. Not when he knew how much Jensen really wanted this to work.

“Little more to the left.” Jensen did as he was told and then hesitated. “I’m clear,” Christian told him.

Jensen nodded, taking a deep breath. It was weird, like golfing with a blindfold on. The entire area was nothing more than a big white blob. He had to trust that the ball was actually there, although he could feel it against his club, and he resisted the urge to move the club forward, not wanting to take the mulligan. Taking another breath, he pulled back and swung.

He felt the club smack into the ball, the sound marking a good shot. He relaxed his position, bringing the club back down to the ground. “Well?”

“Not bad. 200 yards, give or take, right on the green. Now back up so I can take my shot.”

Jensen felt himself smile. Maybe he really could do this. He heard a club connect with the tee and he snorted with laughter, “Nice shot.”

Christian grunted, “Coulda been better but it’s fucking straight.” He put his arm under Jensen’s hand and Jensen followed him to the golf cart.

* * *

Jensen heard the snap-hiss of a beer can opening. “I’m not walking back to clubhouse again.”

“S’only beer. Didn’t even bring my flask.” There was a lull and then “You ain’t got a fuckin’ leg to stand on.” Jensen could hear the smile in his voice.

Jensen felt a cold beer pressed into his hand. He popped the top and took a pull. “Remember, they’re not going to let me drive this thing, bubba. Keep it between the navigational buoys.”

There was a gruff laugh, “You fucking quoting Buffet? Should cut you off.”

Jensen giggled, “Shit, I haven’t had this much to drink since the accident.”

“You always were a fucking light weight, but this is just embarrassing, son. You’ve only had three piss water beers.” Christian scoffed.

“Jeff’s been mother henning me about everything since all this shit started.” Jensen replied sitting on golf cart. They were waiting for the group in front of them to finish the hole. “Doesn’t trust me to take care of myself.”

“Can you?” It was quietly asked. 

“The fuck, Kane?” Jensen asked, turning to face his buddy feeling stung by the question, “You brought me fucking golfing and now... this?” It was bad enough his parents were always harping on him on how he couldn't take care of himself now that he was blind. He didn't need this shit from Kane, especially not after he just proved he could still do something he did before.

“Just asking." Kane replied and Jensen could imagine him with his hands up in a surrendering position. "And what I fucking meant was, what’re you gonna do with that pretty face of yours? Ain’t like you to be without some sort of project.” 

Jensen took a long pull from his beer, still rankled, but a bit mollified. He didn't want to think about this. He just wanted to fucking golf.

“You get fucking antsy when you don’t got shit all to do, son. Must be driving you near insane to be just sitting on your hands.” Kane added, quietly. 

“I’m blind.” Jensen spat.

“And I’m short, what’s your point?” Christian retorted. “Ain’t never fuckin stopped me.”

Jensen snorted, “Not quite the same.”

“No? You think it’s easy being a leading man when most of the women are taller’n you?” Christian said. “I lie on my resume and wear lifts. We won’t even fucking get into me being native on my Momma’s side. Son, all I’m saying, with all the shit heaped on you, be a fucking shame to not see you rise above it. So, fucking balls up already.”

Jensen finished his beer and crushed the can. As if being short was the same fucking thing. "There’s this thing, haven’t even told Jeff about it yet.”

“Yeah?”

“DC Comics approached me. They’re looking for an arc on one of their animated series. Wanted to see if I’d be interested.”

“Are you?” Christian asked.

Jensen stared up into the sunlight he could feel on his face. “Yeah, maybe. Fuck, I dunno.” He snorted and shook his head, "Pretty fucking sure Mark Sheppard pulled some strings and set it up for me."

"So what if he did?" 

Jensen shook his head, his hands fisting. "I don't need fucking charity. If I'm gonna do this, I wanna fucking do this on my own. Not because of anyone else."

"So it was fucking charity when I got you introduced over at the WB?" The question was spat back with no lack of Kane’s usual impatience.

"What? Fuck no." Jensen said, "that was--"

"It was the same fucking thing, son. I opened the fucking the door for you. Was happy to do it. You think Mark is what? Expecting you to put out?"

Jensen shook his head quickly, trying to rid his brain of the images that brought up. "Jesus, I hope not. That's just... so wrong." Jensen rubbed his face. "This isn't just me wanting to get off the soaps. This is... I'm fucking blind, I don't want pity."

There was a snort, "So it ain't pity when y'all could see but it is when y'all can't?" Jensen could hear Kane shake his head. "Bubba, yer head is some fucked up. Take it, or don't. But don't not do it just cuz you think it's pity."

Jensen threw the crushed can into the trash bag. "Let's play some fucking golf, Short."

* * *

Jensen has just finished his putt when the phone on his hip vibrated. He grinned as he answered. “Hey.”

“You two get kicked off the course for slow play yet?” Steve asked, lazily.

Jensen laughed, and he heard swearing. Christian must have fucked up his putt. “Not yet, but Short’s all but forgotten I can’t drive the golf cart.” There was another expletive and Jensen could imagine Christian was flipping him the bird. He walked over to the golf cart and sat down on the seat. “Seriously, we could probably use a pickup.”

“You good?” Steve asked, and Jensen could hear the worry.

“Yeah, we’re good. Christian’s keeping it between his thumbs for now.”

“Swore you was gonna drive us right into the fucking water hazard on hole five, bubba.” Christian joked, sitting down next to Jensen and leaning in close enough to hear what Steve was saying on the other end of the line, that Jensen could smell his cologne.

“Asshole, if you hadn't gotten us stuck in the sand trap, and did some fancy talking about me being sober enough to drive, that wouldna happened.” Jensen said with a laugh, shoving him away again.

He heard spluttering on the other end of the phone, and he wondered if Steve had been drinking something when he said that. "I'll meet you at the 19th hole." There was a pause, "I'm not bailing you two out of golf jail. You get arrested, call Jeff."

* * *

Jensen pulled his clubs out of the cart. He licked his lips and shook his head, “So... how many times has Jeff called you today?”

There was a grunt and then, “He’s been real good, pretty boy. Only texted twice, course after the second one I threatened to tell you so, he took the fucking hint.” There was a pause, “Not sure what he was more worried about you, or you being with me.”

Jensen chuckled. “He’s heard the stories.”

“Fuck, son. Not the one with the bb gun, I hope.” Laughter colored the retort.

“Dude knows how to use YouTube. I had to put it in context.” Jensen defended as he took Christian’s elbow and let himself be led into the club house. By his tally, since he didn’t trust Christian not to cheat, he’d won by 3 strokes.

“What the fuck kinda context you got for us shooting each other with bb guns?” Christian wondered as they sat down at the bar. 

“I’m still waiting for that myself.” A voice, low and gravely said. Jensen could smell Jeff's cologne and felt a hand settled on the back of his neck. “CK invited me for drinks with you boys, since I know how the three of you get.” A pause and then “Steve was telling me something about the golf cart?”

Jensen threw his head back and laughed. He heard Steve start telling Jeff about how Christian managed to get himself a DUI on a golf course and get their cart impounded by the golf police. A drink was placed in front of him and Jeff’s hand moved low on his back. He’d check his email when he got home. See if DC Comics was still interested.


End file.
